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"frig" poems
A paper with ink that every student hates to do It’s so annoying when you cant get it because the teacher didn’t explain to you how to do it so you don’t get it, but the smart girl in your class said every one gets it, so the teacher shuts up, but on the inside you want to turn around and scream “No ones as smart as you!” but you don’t because you don’t want to be a bother, but as you sit in your bed you think what the frig I should have asked, but in stead of doing my homework I go on something called Facebook where everyone writes about other people and there problems there having that no one in the world seriously cares about so you scroll till you see a fight that is pretty pointless, but you still get the popcorn and read everything they said because its better then doing any thing else, but you see that girl that deals with anorexia and start to think why does she do that to herself she’s skinny, I know the mirror can be cruel sometimes, but she’s beautiful, she may look unhealthy and in science instead of looking at the skeleton you look at her because you can see every bone in her body because the words people say affected her, she was healthy, but people think you need to be **** perfect to be friends or just for them to like you, so she carries this thing that eats her on the inside in pain with the words that are whispering in the halls, but then she has that one friend that doesn’t help she’s to busy wishing for selfish things and too blind to see her friend is dying in front of her, but instead of saving her she’s wishing for everything like that new car and losing weight and her hair to be longer and what outfit she’s going to wear tomorrow to impress that guy she has a crush on and the girl thats been neglected by everyone and everything next to her in the mirror hearing her rant on and on about this she’s wishing I want to be like her, I want someone to love me like that, I want friends she always says I want and I bet it’s the girl in the back of the classroom, that shy one that sits alone at lunch time looking around hoping someone will come sit with her and want to be friends but it doesn’t happen because everyones too selfish in there own worries and problem to notice their fellow classmates could be crying out for help in front of you but you don’t care because your stuff is to important to help someone else.
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Apr 11, 2013
Apr 11, 2013 at 11:24 AM UTC
homework, wishing, anorexia, neglect
A paper with ink that every student hates to do It’s so annoying when you cant get it because the teacher didn’t explain to you how to do it so you don’t get it, but the smart girl in your class said every one gets it, so the teacher shuts up, but on the inside you want to turn around and scream “No ones as smart as you!” but you don’t because you don’t want to be a bother, but as you sit in your bed you think what the frig I should have asked, but in stead of doing my homework I go on something called Facebook where everyone writes about other people and there problems there having that no one in the world seriously cares about so you scroll till you see a fight that is pretty pointless, but you still get the popcorn and read everything they said because its better then doing any thing else, but you see that girl that deals with anorexia and start to think why does she do that to herself she’s skinny, I know the mirror can be cruel sometimes, but she’s beautiful, she may look unhealthy and in science instead of looking at the skeleton you look at her because you can see every bone in her body because the words people say affected her, she was healthy, but people think you need to be **** perfect to be friends or just for them to like you, so she carries this thing that eats her on the inside in pain with the words that are whispering in the halls, but then she has that one friend that doesn’t help she’s to busy wishing for selfish things and too blind to see her friend is dying in front of her, but instead of saving her she’s wishing for everything like that new car and losing weight and her hair to be longer and what outfit she’s going to wear tomorrow to impress that guy she has a crush on and the girl thats been neglected by everyone and everything next to her in the mirror hearing her rant on and on about this she’s wishing I want to be like her, I want someone to love me like that, I want friends she always says I want and I bet it’s the girl in the back of the classroom, that shy one that sits alone at lunch time looking around hoping someone will come sit with her and want to be friends but it doesn’t happen because everyones too selfish in there own worries and problem to notice their fellow classmates could be crying out for help in front of you but you don’t care because your stuff is to important to help someone else.
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I wander no longer I prefer to wait at my master’s chamber To eat To drink To talk of love He flames my heart With desire Never felt before Enthralled and awestruck I lose my senses In His love All night long I am consumed In a hot passion Don’t ask! I don’t Know We ever sleep or endlessly frig Can I even count?
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Jan 20, 2015
Jan 20, 2015 at 2:10 AM UTC
HOT FUG
My doors are always open, they swing both ways. You can come in and be welcomed, leave just the same. There is always some food in the frig, the cabinet is usually stocked. You won't find anything fancy but if you're hungry, it will hit the spot. There are two stacks of fire wood, in case you're here when it's cold. One is for a quick fire, the other for all night long. Upstairs is the extra bed, clean towels too , on shelves, extra razor in the drawer, case you need to shave yourself. Now the beer is in the bottom drawer of the frig out in the shop, yes there is a bottle behind the toolbox, case you needing a shot. I really only got a few rules , most folks have heard before. Take what you need, leave what aint yours. Help with the chores if you get a chance, clean up behind yourself. When the time comes at you again, help those that caint help themselves. Welcome.
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Apr 1, 2012
Apr 1, 2012 at 11:10 AM UTC
Always Welcomed
You hit. A flopped an fit lien to then bgs. .,. S€€ You knew. That wingding sis my tots fav font you know this ,,.h so you're is Tia dim a frog And this frig lies till I lie in ab oboe I'm a g I'm. P and and op g So I'd you want to fight me I just might *** Yee
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Mar 2, 2015
Mar 2, 2015 at 3:55 PM UTC
Goose flytrap in flocks Of twelve of more than Iwu
There comes the disbelief and the day when a daughter comes to tell the matter And she knows you can't help She knows there's no way to convince that afternoon to think about it.... No way to stop the fire in the leaves of the driest April in twenty years as it blackens the acres and blurs the eyes to all but its own emergency Before it the hay of last year's weeds and all those buds that hope conceives the flight of all that lives... The plight before... ...The fire-line... forces every hand to the pure product of heat and light-- then to ash and not to ask "This once was living?" A senior class wrote their friend good-byes ...could not bring herself to... ...bring herself there.... She had to bring the mourning home to make alive to raise the sun-- "He slammed the medicine chest And saw.... walked through the kitchen opened the frig for the zillionth time... Then walked a mile in the woods behind his house." Warm for April short-sleeve warm "...And I keep thinking how the sun must've felt on his face and arms He must've been swinging the jug and-- WHAT WAS HE THINKING? They found the empty amber a hundred yards behind.... I keep seein' 'im put the handful to 'is mouth... ...Then the jug... He must've had to swallow hard They say you could tell ...where he stumbled... ...by the leaves... ...found 'im    on 'is side    with the jug ...just beyond    'is hand... Oh Ma!   I CAN'T!  I CAN'T!" ...So I-- "Maybe he was mouthing the words to a song. ...anyway the birds went on and he was still warmed by the April sun when they found him."
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Apr 28, 2018
Apr 28, 2018 at 3:28 PM UTC
Spring Brush Fire
There comes the disbelief and the day when a daughter comes to tell the matter And she knows you can't help She knows there's no way to convince that afternoon to think about it.... No way to stop the fire in the leaves of the driest April in twenty years as it blackens the acres and blurs the eyes to all but its own emergency Before it the hay of last year's weeds and all those buds that hope conceives the flight of all that lives... The plight before... ...The fire-line... forces every hand to the pure product of heat and light-- then to ash and not to ask "This once was living?" A senior class wrote their friend good-byes ...could not bring herself to... ...bring herself there.... She had to bring the mourning home to make alive to raise the sun-- "He slammed the medicine chest And saw.... walked through the kitchen opened the frig for the zillionth time... Then walked a mile in the woods behind his house." Warm for April short-sleeve warm "...And I keep thinking how the sun must've felt on his face and arms He must've been swinging the jug and-- WHAT WAS HE THINKING? They found the empty amber a hundred yards behind.... I keep seein' 'im put the handful to 'is mouth... ...Then the jug... He must've had to swallow hard They say you could tell ...where he stumbled... ...by the leaves... ...found 'im    on 'is side    with the jug ...just beyond    'is hand... Oh Ma!   I CAN'T!  I CAN'T!" ...So I-- "Maybe he was mouthing the words to a song. ...anyway the birds went on and he was still warmed by the April sun when they found him."
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She takes more than her share consuming what is hers and a little of everyone else. An inconsiderate roommate of the seasons devouring the contents in the frig and beginning to work on the boxes marked "Spring". Like us, they hate her and dream of ways to evict the trespasser but she has no pride or modicum of fair play. And we know when she with diva flair finally blusters away we'll be raggedly left paying the debt.
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Mar 7, 2014
Mar 7, 2014 at 12:18 AM UTC
Selfish Winter
Storms never bothered me as a child. I use to love to put on my bathing suit, barefoot, and jump in all those puddles... Mom would make me come in if it was lightning. But with lightning came thunder, so I would run inside at the first crack. My mom use to tell me that it was the Angels bowling. I'm sure every mother told there kid that. I know I did... I loved storms when we were out to our cottage. Because the waves were raging, and I remember standing outside with my dad and all the neighbor guys, discussing this storm. With a beer in there hand. I never had fear back then. When my kids were little and a storm was a brewing. We lived in a duplex, with no basement and we would take the kids, and our bird down to our neighbors basement.... I still wasn't afraid of storms... the kids, and parents we all played pool, some dance...it was like a party...no fear... Now, I live by the weather mans report. I have a program from each tv station on my phone, and the weather station, even an app for tornados. But it's not fun any more... I don't go run in the rain barefoot, or jump in puddles, but I try to keep a bottle of wine in the frig, a snack or two, and set stuff up in the bathroom for two....me and my dog buddy. I'm in the tub, he curls around the toilet... no fear... well maybe a little bit... by ~ judy
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Apr 22, 2014
Apr 22, 2014 at 11:17 AM UTC
A Storm is heading our way.
there's one date I don't freaking celebrate and even sort of hate to perceive a certain day of a certain month every year as a birthday? frig it, no **** way; there is only one such day, & mine is a lot behind that date is just a bitter reminder, do not be blind with every next year after an actual birthday it's more & more just a "becoming old" day that's to keep in mind you, of course, are free to treat these lines as some pessimistic whine but don't think that thinking the way I do isn't right as it isn't about "right/not right" it's about point of view after all, you have your own, don't you?
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Nov 1, 2019
Nov 1, 2019 at 12:15 AM UTC
only the 1st day is birthday [might be edited, expanded]
I'm following the red pig ziggety zag i can smell her blood **** & ***  whipped and wet thick as jelly bouncy bouncy belly gut trampoline oodles up **** hole bazooka her mind lavishly corrupt nothing pained her but emptiness her soul a poem of lust's dissolution so give it my red hot pig ***** gag hag **** bag valedictorian of kisses i love the sweat wet cascading dark waters that run so raw your lunch the history of projectile salad and pizza over glistening ***** and thighs the ********* knows  pain is not punishment  but pleasure spawned by unfulfilled intentions i like it when you close your eyes you appear so blameless i pray looking up to your ****** that yields its delicate shade of feeling like a bomb blinkity blink puddle and squeeze come my love for a frantic **** and flapping jowls on the frig of treasure in the land of dungeons and ****** i bay at your ankles for attention and a toe to kiss many wish they lived here  especially the love sick from whom all is withheld i know i owe you tenderness meet you in the bathroom for a midnight date where gawking tongues putter inhaling White Widow Cheese bound in straps and wide for a lady business nose dive neck bone lassoed mouth gaping like a twisted black coat hanger shes out of her rolling marbles ready to **** boogie woogie raw in broken maiden paradise lovely beast of submission she wobbles dead cat bounce
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Oct 15, 2020
Oct 15, 2020 at 12:06 PM UTC
Following the Red Pig
Time goes by swiftly but I remember it well... For daddy would walk down with a fun tale to tell... I WONDER WHAT TALE MY DAD WOULD TELL NOW. DAD WAS A DEMOCRAT, MOM A REPUBLICAN. I NEVER REMEMBER HEARING THEM TALK POLITICS. I REMEMBER THINKING, I HOPE DAD WINS CAUSE JFK IS CUTE...OMG! I would put on the coffee and we would sit out back... At the table he made us for enjoying our snacks... WHAT WOULD DAD THINK ABOUT SO MANY COFFEE FLAVORS, AND SO SO MANY DIFFERENT BEERS. I KNOW HE WOULD SHAKE HIS HEAD IF HE KNEW I HAD FATHEAD BUMBLEBERRY BEER IN MY FRIG. Now daddy and hubby are no longer around... But I think of them daily I can almost hear the sound... Of them laughing and talking I wish they were still around... ONCE I WAS YOUNG AND BEING A MOM , POLITICS WAS THE FARTHEST THING FROM MY MIND. NEVER HAD TELEVISION ON EXCEPT MAYBE CAPTAIN KANGAROO OR BARNEY FOR THE KIDS. Remember time goes by swiftly take time to play... Enjoying each other and each and every day... IT'S A NEW TIME IN LIFE, AND IF YOUR LUCKY LIFE GOES ON. WE AS AMERICANS HAVE TO STICK TOGETHER AND THINK POSITIVE. NO MATTER IF YOUR RED OR BLUE SUPPORT YOUR NEW PRESIDENT.
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Jan 19, 2017
Jan 19, 2017 at 8:40 AM UTC
A MOMENT IN TIME...
A protest song inspired by sjr1000 Frig & Frack dance a dance To see who is astute They run an oil rag up a pole To see who will salute Nobody seems to see it They just watch TV Corporate's just overjoyed! They can dance for FREE! They just quash the media Build gas-guzzling trucks People purchase in their millions So Frig & Frack make BUCKS! Nobody seems to wonder Why water tastes so funny Why their kids have cancer Why... Big Oil's makin' MONEY! Yeah... nobody seems to care a fig Most people aren't that hyper Now Corporate can laugh and jig... ...*and we all Pay the Piper!* SoulSurvivor (C) 1/16/2017
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Jan 16, 2017
Jan 16, 2017 at 6:11 PM UTC
Frig & Frack
Tuesday Weld was a frigger She was friggin' everywhere and Everywhere she went, she frigged As a matter of fact There wasn't a day that went by In which Tuesday wouldn't frig She frigged at the supermarket She would frig at the mall She frigged at the movies She frigged at the gas-pump She was caught frigging at the dentist She even frigged down the shore All her twenty-seven siblings Worked the local house of ill-repute It had a bar inside of it And was Whorethorne's best kept secret Even the police would get laid there (on Tuesdays) Finally, the townspeople of Whorethorne Could not take it anymore And they burnt down The Barn Then, just like Tuesday They too Went frigging nuts
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Nov 6, 2014
Nov 6, 2014 at 11:58 AM UTC
Ode to a Frigging Family of ******
They try to ****** you, reduce you to quivering mountains of jelly. (well we won't have that,will we?) While we're picking up dog ends looking up our rear ends they're sending their sprogs off to Harrow and Eton making more running dogs, they think that we're beaten. On the street where I live,half of the residents don't live at all, they vegetate, a form of somnambulism, some kind of mistake because the other half don't give a frig, this is the gig,this is the play if you're happy or not they don't care,anyway, they won't ****** me, I am cardboard citizen and free, under the rainbow and off the grid, still got to bid on a house or a flat and that's the way of it. You try and you think that you're free but you're numbered and name tagged and put in the queue and all you can do then is dream of a time when freedom means freedom and not medieval serfdom.
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Sep 6, 2014
Sep 6, 2014 at 8:11 AM UTC
The dwarf star
A dream of pitched skies. My complexion illumined, By nocturnal radiance of gloom, Shined steel rays from the moon. Creeping coastal winds on my right. Frothing waves approaching my skin, Sand constricting my flesh like pins, Doomed to deep rapture, I could not win. The shores of scorching Tripoli sands. With Arabic fire potent of golden alchemy, Above burning desert, under molten sea, Lies Ottoman provinces, drowned at scree. Were I to become a victim of Siren's call? To sink without ship or a captain's crest, Was a fleeting frig sailing to sea-change, lest I collapse bellowing into Mother Earth's breast.
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Mar 11, 2015
Mar 11, 2015 at 8:28 PM UTC
Iman
Ronnie is that you? Can you hear me Ronnie? I know somehow you can I feel you next to me I feel your arms around me I know you hear me. They all think I'm crazy Ronnie They hear me talk to you I hear them talk about me No one knows what to say I cry and scream Sometimes I go into the closet and put on your clothes I still have your razor Your shoes are still on the rack Dinner is still in the frig The dishes never got washed I have not combed my hair in a couple of days I think I showered, I don't know I don't leave the house Sometimes I get up and think I can do it But I can't, I just can't When does the pain go away Ronnie? When do I stop crying for you Ronnie? Our friends stopped coming over The neighbors don't make eye contact Those calls to check on me stopped I got another box today Your unit packed it up It was stamped with big Red letters "Deceased" They all said that Ronnie It was like the news was not bad enough Now, I had to have a final reminder that you are gone I finally opened the box Ronnie I found a list It was a list of things you were going to get me for my Birthday And the last thing was Don't forget to tell her that I Love her everyday. You never had to tell me Ronnie, I always knew.
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Jan 28, 2013
Jan 28, 2013 at 11:06 PM UTC
I Always Knew
Buried alive in a worm box As he smuggle stood on top ***** I'm burying you alive" "No one will hear your cries" The worms wiggled around behind my back I struggled there in the pitch black The smell of freash earth was so overpowering And on top he just stood up there towering I clawed at the lid Of that old frig But he was to heavy it did not give My oxygen was soon depleted I knew then I was defeated Buried alive in a worm box Who would of ever thought As you can see I survived that day But when at last on a cold slab I lay And when they put that tag on my toe It's off to the crematorium I go Because being buried once is quite enough I really am not all that tough
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Feb 26, 2016
Feb 26, 2016 at 1:18 PM UTC
Buried Alive
Shoved and crammed into a worm box As he smuggle stood on top ***** I'm burying you alive" "No one will hear your cries" The worms wiggled around behind my back I struggled there in the pitch black The smell of freash earth was so overpowering And on top he just stood there towering I clawed at the lid Of that old frig But he was to heavy it did not give My oxygen was soon depleted I knew then I was defeated Buried alive in a worm box Who would of ever thought As you can see I survived that day But when at last on a cold slab I lay And when they put that tag on my toe It's off to the crematorium I go Because being buried once is quite enough I really am not all that tough
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Jun 5, 2016
Jun 5, 2016 at 11:08 AM UTC
Worm Box (True Story)
Oh God! **** me! Why do I never learn? 2:30 in the wee hours, I am sure sales ended at 2:00. Oh God! I need a drink! I yank open, slam closed Refrigerator drawers. I search the closet, Maybe beneath the towels. Just a glass of wine With lunch I told self. Now the box lies Empty, flattened In my recycling bin. I open every cabinet, The frig yet again. Nothing! Oh God! I need a drink! How much have I Metabolized? What proof my blood? How bad will it get? 6:00am sales resume…. I think. I can’t go buy alcohol At 6:00 in the morning. I’ll be alone in the store. Can I make it to 10:00? How bad will it get? Maybe breakfast at Claire’s, ****** Mary’s. If only I could sleep! 3am. Wide awake. **** me! Oh God! I need a drink!
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Sep 19, 2025
Sep 19, 2025 at 8:34 PM UTC
What Proof?
The sunrises with powerful myth. The sky lights up as it was on fire with reds the camera can't collect. The shopping centers still all a jam.  When all I wanted was to buy some jam. People pushing rushing like it's the end of life. Of my God there's only one more Barbie let's get into a fight. Yesterday I begged for food. With others that have no one,  no where to be for this crappie holiday you see. Jobs were cut. Just in the nick of time. As disaster seems to cloud this world of mine. If I was an immigrant even better to be illegal. I'd probably have a ******* pillow. Excuses from the social worker, about vacations and not enough people to help those of us. Here we sit 2 days before Christmas. No tree in the house and not a single gift. Ranch dressing is what's left in the frig. I paid my power bill so I could be warm. I guess that's now a choice to be hungry or warm. This life we have is really about feeling abused and worn. Christmas can come and be gone for all I'm concerned. There is no longer the love during the holidays. Even the churches have gone a stray. I'll give you this loaf of bread but you must stay here and let us get inside your head. I'm hungry, don't need a sermon . I've heard them all being raised conservative almost worst than a mormon. I've prayed for changes no one answers my prayers. This time I'm giving up. And I no longer care. Merry Christmas to all you that have everything. ***** those of us that have lost everything.
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Dec 23, 2017
Dec 23, 2017 at 10:07 AM UTC
2 days before Christmas
Life is but a cinemax,let's face the facts we travel round and round the screen and though we'd like to be a scene within the picture that's being seen,we haven't got a hope in hell. They sell these scenes to make our dreams and any scenes we may fall in are cut and put into the bin. The real sin lies in the lies we're told, as the green screen folds our lives in two and the camera crew don't give a frig, to us, the not so big that we don't matter but we could shatter all their dreams by boycotting their clapped out screens and yet we still pretend that in the end,we'll get our break,take our fifteen minutes of fame, well,thank you all the same I'd sooner not,I'd sooner scratch the spot that's sat upon my *** and one day anyway the day will come when we all get our moment in the spotlight of the sun so why worry?
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Sep 16, 2013
Sep 16, 2013 at 2:57 PM UTC
Matinees
Buried alive in a worm box As he smuggle stood on top ***** I'm burying you alive" "No one will hear your cries" The worms wiggled around behind my back I struggled there in the pitch black The smell of freash earth was so overpowering And on top he just stood there towering I clawed at the lid Of that old frig But he was to heavy it did not give My oxygen was soon depleted I knew then I was defeated Buried alive in a worm box Who would of ever thought As you can see I survived that day But when at last on a cold slab I lay And when they put that tag on my toe It's off to the crematorium I go Because being buried once is quite enough I really am not all that tough
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Jan 29, 2016
Jan 29, 2016 at 9:14 PM UTC
Worm Box (True Story)
Tomorrow you leave, so soon! too soon? months of laying on couches ahead. "Tell me about your childhood" "How did that make you feel" You're always quick to take blame, when it should be at the feet of the gameplayers, the nay-sayers the ones that trickle poison, trawling their filthy twitching nets in the hope of catching a morsel to feed their burgeoning egos. While they frig in hateful darkness happily inflated by another ruined soul.
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Jun 17, 2014
Jun 17, 2014 at 6:21 PM UTC
Home
The hills are calling from my mind, I have to act or else complain; that my feet are sluggish ones, that these days are way too plain. I wash my face and grab my keys, my sunglasses and my wide brimmed hat; take along some water from the frig, lean down to softly kiss the cat. So I begin to climb the first of many hills, the morning's bright with rising sun; I hear the footfalls of a runner, he jogs on by, on his early run. The blood's now racing in my aging veins, propelling me to carry on; I view the mountains with delight, it's now my solitary song. I reach the crest and I am labored, with a quiet, sweaty tiredness; but for my efforts, I'm rewarded, by an inward, soul-filled happiness.
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Sep 18, 2014
Sep 18, 2014 at 7:42 PM UTC
Mountain fever
5 Newest Poems By Mario Vitale : The Chosen in a little while then I shall be no more with each tender mire leaves across the floor, leaves out on the parlor coffee in the frig a box filled with chocolates a note telling you how to live the willingness to forgive Patience Until Summer we wait for the winter chill to end falling on the arms of a faithful friend the willingness to be no end shadows block the memory each step that I take can't be retraced a loving satin laced perfume amidst decadance the shallow pools resolve The Fragrance Of The Timberwolf occupy til I come a blade of grass is formed through tyrants rant of yesterday's advance to help you get along strong is the tongue that sets on fire a world made torn curse the day you were actually born the parting sky to a faint lulabye a reprise to be learned another page is turned Sweet Anabele Lee fancy and free the way is she my sweet Anabele Lee her face was slim in place of her offering you mad a friend in sweet Anabele Lee she cherished a rose that was plucked a time before with quaint laughter to appease start spreading its disease through a doorway portal fill with cobblestone she walk alone hopeful through Lavender hue upon her brow a sweet delicate shawl she dances in a ring of fire yet throws of each challenge with a shrug Quaint Tapestry sweet ambiance torn red thoughts within my head look at the story now read your as good as dead filter through a song of granduer shadows block the vortex wallow in the midnight mire seek a gun for hire the twist of the hand makes you understand
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May 12, 2018
May 12, 2018 at 11:29 AM UTC
5/12/18 (5 Newest Poems By Mario William Vitale)
5 Newest Poems By Mario Vitale : The Chosen in a little while then I shall be no more with each tender mire leaves across the floor, leaves out on the parlor coffee in the frig a box filled with chocolates a note telling you how to live the willingness to forgive Patience Until Summer we wait for the winter chill to end falling on the arms of a faithful friend the willingness to be no end shadows block the memory each step that I take can't be retraced a loving satin laced perfume amidst decadance the shallow pools resolve The Fragrance Of The Timberwolf occupy til I come a blade of grass is formed through tyrants rant of yesterday's advance to help you get along strong is the tongue that sets on fire a world made torn curse the day you were actually born the parting sky to a faint lulabye a reprise to be learned another page is turned Sweet Anabele Lee fancy and free the way is she my sweet Anabele Lee her face was slim in place of her offering you mad a friend in sweet Anabele Lee she cherished a rose that was plucked a time before with quaint laughter to appease start spreading its disease through a doorway portal fill with cobblestone she walk alone hopeful through Lavender hue upon her brow a sweet delicate shawl she dances in a ring of fire yet throws of each challenge with a shrug Quaint Tapestry sweet ambiance torn red thoughts within my head look at the story now read your as good as dead filter through a song of granduer shadows block the vortex wallow in the midnight mire seek a gun for hire the twist of the hand makes you understand
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